Waves of Nostalgia
by speckledears
Summary: Thankfully, despite the underlying feeling of boredom they experienced, the lack of things to do caused their beach trip. Mista had brought up the idea, saying that he hasn't gone to the beach since he was a child, and when Trish's face lit up, Giorno knew this was something that they needed. They needed a break from it all, a day to just be normal people at the beach, getting sun


The sun beat down upon a Southern Italian beach; the water felt as if it were a boiling pot of thick, greasy soup broth and the sand morphed into charcoals that scorched the bottoms of feet. It was an isolated beach, tucked behind more popular destinations that offer cleaner waters and friendly sea creatures. This part of the coastline was infamous for aggressive fish that nibbled at heels, crabs that pinch at toes, and the occasional shark sighting. Not a welcoming place to bring the family on a Saturday afternoon.

But there on this beach was Passione, a family not based on a shared bloodline but a shared past that created an unbreakable bond. Six years ago, the event of Diavolo took place. An event which only quaked the reality of a few people, ending some lives and changing the rest. Bruno Buccellati, Narancia Ghirga, Leone Abbacchio would never again be able to experience the blistering sand, the sizzling water, and the hostile wildlife. They wouldn't be able to experience anything again. The passing of those three devastated the others who survived their battle with Diavolo. It wasn't a feeling that up and instantly presented itself to the survivors, but rather slowly coiled in their intestines, festering in their insides like a parasite. The living members of Passione all handled their grief in different ways and at different times. (Mista turned to alcohol a month after the event, Trish took on a massive amount of guilt which caused her to isolate herself from the others, and Gio suppressed his pain and sorrow to the point that both positive and negative feelings were no longer felt. Fugo, who returned back to the gang several years later after learning what had happened when he left Passione, was furious with the others and himself. His anger was often expressed outwardly with punches into walls and doors, but occasionally the rage manifested inwardly with a disregard for his health.)

Nowadays, they're all handling themselves better -well as better as gangsters can be. Still heavily relying on alcohol to lift their spirits and gambling to excite their lives. In the beginning of Giorno's reign, Passione was constantly doing something to prove themselves to the rest of the gangs around the world, but now that they've secured their seats as Italy's top dog, they don't find themselves doing much anymore. No one betrays them, no one disobeys orders or gets greedy with money, no one tries to start uprises; everyone follows Giorno, seeing the lingering line of miracles that follow in his wake. He's a man that seized the impossible and invokes a sensation of hope in others. Even various gangs from around the world such as the yakuza in Japan and the mafia in America find themselves loving Giorno's company whenever they meet for a night of drinks and storytelling.

Thankfully, despite the underlying feeling of boredom they experienced, the lack of things to do caused their beach trip. Mista had brought up the idea, saying that he hasn't gone to the beach since he was a child, and when Trish's face lit up, Giorno knew this was something that they needed. They needed a break from it all, a day to just be normal people at the beach, getting sun damage and sand in their privates. And now here they were: Mista and Trish splashing each other, Fugo fishing under the pretense that he was doing it for food and not pleasure, and Gio relaxing in the shade of an umbrella.

He fondly watched the others enjoy themselves in the Italian summer, his lips slightly curved into a gentle smile. Trish tackled Mista and took him down into the sea, laughing cheerfully. Even Mista's own stand, the Sex Pistols, were rooting for Trish in this game of teasing. Gio shook his head, thinking about how Mista wouldn't mind any treatment Trish dealt to him, and in fact, all the attention he was receiving from her was something he highly welcomed. It wasn't a secret that Mista possessed feelings for Trish (he was actually very upfront about it), but Trish either was oblivious or didn't have the same feelings to be returned. Fugo often got annoyed by Mista's apparent affection towards her and has snapped at him on several different occasions. Nowadays, Fugo is more accustomed to it, but simply decides to retreat back to his quarters instead of hearing Mista cooing over her. Giorno was hesitant about the relationship, viewing it as a possible hindrance if something were to drastically go wrong. Hypothetically if someone would try to overtake them, Mista would put her first over anything else which isn't desired in a gang.

"Gio, you're doing it again."

The leader snapped his attention to the voice, finding Fugo pointing at Giorno's crossed fingers which were bound so tightly together that the knuckles became white -a common action he did when he was deep in thought. Putting his hands to his side, Giorno thanked Fugo for drawing attention to his hands.

Holding a fish in one hand and putting the other on his hip, Fugo sighed, "You wanted to come to the beach to get away from heavy thoughts, but it seems like you're the one having the hardest time with that."

"The Don of a mafia has to always be planning and preparing for whatever may happen," Gio rebuked with a chuckle.

Fugo didn't look convinced, but thankfully for Gio, he wouldn't push further on the subject. He just stared at Giorno with his scarlet eyes, waiting on the other man to speak.

Giorno sensed that the silence was created for himself to break it by explaining what he was thinking of, a tactic that was common amongst gangsters, and funny enough, therapists. Returning his gaze back to the two in the water (Mista and Trish were engaged in some swimming competition now), he said, "What are you going to do with the caught fish, Fugo? I doubt any of us know how to cook a fish that's still moving."

"Mista wanted to see what I catch, but I doubt he really wants to." After tying the fish onto the umbrella's spokes, Fugo sat down next to Gio. "Fish are probably biting him right now as we speak and he's fully focused on Trish. Poor fool still hopes that she'll fall for him."

Humming a reply, the two men sat in silence with the ocean waves lulling them into a gentle state of mind. As if they were connected, Gio and Fugo became of each grain of sand underneath them, the breeze that ran across their chests, the sunlight that would momentarily catch their skin and warm them. They felt the insects that ran across their feet, digging in between their toes to return back to the sand. Cocking their heads, they zoned out the splashing of Mista and Trish, and honed in on the seagulls banter, on their dives into the sea, on the flapping of their wings. The two men separated their thoughts at this moment: Giorno turning his attention to the clouds and Fugo closing his eyes to think about the past.

As he thought, Fugo felt his stomach hollow out and swallow his intestines, his heart, his lungs, himself. Gritting his teeth, the man was self aware enough to know that if he didn't keep his body busy, his mind preoccupied, everything always led back to his mistake. Fugo dug his fingers into the sand, his body shaking with frustration towards everyone and everything. He hated the beach, but he knew someone else didn't. He knew Narancia would have loved this place; he knew that Narancia should be sitting here next to the Don and not himself. His thoughts began to turn quickly negative.

 _God, why did Narancia stay? Why did he side with them? Why didn't I go with them? Why did he die and not me? Why did all of this happen, and why was I a coward for not joining them?_

Like a knife cutting through air, Gio spoke quick and low so that Fugo could barely make out his words. "You two will meet again, not in this life, but you possess a thousand other lives inside of you. There are an infinite amount of timelines, an infinite amount of possible lives one can experience. Why, in another life, my father, instead of being a vampire, could be a horse jockey, and you could have never even met me or anyone else in Passione. But you can't center your attention around the past, the future, and the possible other lives; this life that you are living now is happening, so embrace it. Now chin up because Mista and Trish are coming over and I doubt you want them to see you like this."

Almost instantly, Fugo shot his eyes open and snuck a glance to Giorno. His gaze was still in the direction of the clouds, but it seemed as if he was looking beyond those white tuffs. Beyond into the future, and by his facial expression, it appeared as if it contained something good.

 _This is why people follow you, Giorno,_ Fugo thought as he attempted to replicate the Don's whimsical stare. _This is why I follow you._

"Oh, Fugo, you actually managed to catch something!" Mista exclaimed, shaking the water droplets off his brown hair.

Trish scrunched her face and flinched away as she tried to avoid the excess water coming from him. "Mista, stop! I already won the splash battle, you can stop!"

Taking it as a sign to tease her more, Mista began shaking his hair even more at her, causing Trish to push him away and hurry over to the two men. Once she reached them, she grabbed a towel and wrapped her hair up.

"I hope the ocean water doesn't stain my hair," Trish mumbled, scrubbing her pink hair with the towel. "I just had it freshly dyed…"

"You have enough money to re-dye it if it is messed up," Fugo scoffed, but spread out his own personal towel next to him so that Trish had a clean spot to sit upon.

"I would like not to fry my hair," she responded matter-o-factly, plopping herself down next to him and adding a short thank you.

Shrugging, Fugo opened his mouth to remark about how much excruciating effort she puts on her appearance but promptly shut it. He knew that Trish would respond with a comment about his "swiss cheese" outfit, and there was no way he could retaliate after that.

Mista sat down next to his crush, appearing casual and relaxed as he slowly scooted closer and closer to her. His mannerisms toward Trish caused Gio to snicker to himself as he reminded him of a puppy dog obeying their master; Fugo groaned and rolled his eyes. Annoyed by Fugo's over extravagant groan, Trish swiftly pinched his tricep and gave him a dirty look.

"Hey," Mista said in a somber, melancholy voice, breaking everyone from what they were preoccupied with. The other gang members watched him closely, taken aback by the tone he used. It was rather unusual that Mista expressed himself in such a manner "I wonder if Bruno and Abbacchio and Narancia would have liked this place..."

Everyone blinked for a moment, a wave of relaxation running through their bones and nerves. It was only Mista that verbally brought them up anymore, but every time he did, he was able to break the everlasting tension of what had happened in the past. His mentioning of them allowed for the fallen members to still be alongside them. He reminded everyone that it wasn't some taboo thing that should be avoided; he reminded everyone that it is okay to bring them up even after 6 years, and for this trait that Mista had, everyone admired him greatly.

Placing his hand on his cheek, Fugo mumbled, "Abbacchio would have hated the beach. He'd probably burn so easily."

"Narancia would have hated the sharks you can see in the distance since it would remind him of Clash," Trish said, staring at circling fins off the shore.

Giorno followed up with: "I figure, Bruno would have hated the sand and how it gets everywhere. He always valued cleanliness."

Mista felt a small laugh rise in himself. It began as a chuckle, but soon turned into loud, hearty laughter. His eyes squeezed tight, his head flung back, and he rocked back and front on his spine. He held his stomach, wincing at the pain in his side. Through laughs and gasps, Mista choked out, "they would have hated this place!"

Trish and Fugo looked at him with concern in their eyes; Trish hesitantly touched the man in an attempt to calm Mista down and Fugo uttered a "what the hell".

The Don stayed still, eyeing the scene as a smile formed on his face. He watched as Trish, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly hanging open, rubbed his back and spoke softly to quiet him. He watched as Fugo, eyebrows stitched together and frowning, untied the fish from earlier and dropped it into Mista's lap in an effort to make him stop. He watched as Mista, tears welling up in his eyes and his mouth in a gummy smile, continued his deep, jovial laughter as he desperately clutched at his aching stomach.

 _No, Mista, with a gang like this,_ Giorno thought, his heart swelling with affection and pride. He placed a hand over his chest due to the overwhelming sensation, his smiling growing more and more. _They would have loved this place._


End file.
